


Heaven When You Smile

by lajulie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajulie/pseuds/lajulie
Summary: Once Han gets a glimpse of Leia's real smile, he can't help wanting to see it again--and getting sucked further and further into that little Rebellion he is definitely not joining. A "five times" fic (five times Leia shared her real smile), originally written and posted for Scoundress Saturdays on Tumblr.





	1. More than Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han got his money, his hero's welcome, his medal. He didn't know he wanted another reward until he got it. Set on Yavin IV during Episode IV.

The euphoria of victory had carried them through most of the rest of the night, and even after Han retired back to the _Falcon_ , he was too keyed up to sleep. He was no stranger to battle, but to essentially drop in last-minute, pick off a couple of TIEs, and watch Luke land a shot with astronomical odds to blow up a damned space station felt a little unreal even to him.

Yeah, it had been right to go back. Even though Han was never going to be able to forget what the words _I told you so_ sounded like in Shryiiwook.

As he got down his stash of good whiskey and poured himself a small glass, he couldn’t help replaying the moments after they’d landed. Chewie had quickly waved him away—[ _I will take care of shutdown procedure, Cub, go be a hero_ ]—and he’d gone tearing across the hangar to find the Kid, and that spirited little princess as well. They’d both been stuck in his head as he and Chewie had flown away, tugging at that bit inside him that said _You could still go back_.

He’d expected Luke’s exuberant response; hells, the kid hadn’t left Tatooine before yesterday, not only survived but won a damned battle. What he hadn’t expected was the last princess of kriffing Alderaan throwing her arms around him, a brilliant, joyful smile on her face, her eyes shining. “I knew there was more to you than money!” she’d cried, and it still surprised him how much he’d liked hearing that.

Now he felt a slight pang, remembering that phrase. He’d figure out a subtle way to return that reward money for the princess tomorrow. Just charge the Rebellion what the old man owed him for the charter to Alderaan and give back the rest. He’d felt kind of disgusting accepting it in the first place, like he was a kriffing bounty hunter or something. But it wasn’t wise in his business to go around turning down money.

And this had been one hell of a job. _Nice easy charter, my ass_.

As he took another sip, he heard someone at the hatch and went to investigate. _Well, speak of the devil._

But the Princess’s joyous smile from earlier had been replaced with a more serious look. “Captain Solo?” she asked.

He opened the hatch and leaned against the doorway, grinning at her. “Hey,” he greeted.

For just a split second, she looked a tad unsteady, but recovered so quickly Han couldn’t be sure he’d actually seen any hesitation. “I apologize for the intrusion,” she began. “I had hoped to speak with you about the ceremony tomorrow. And perhaps see whether you might be available for other business as well.” She was in that rail-straight posture he’d seen her use with the High Command shortly after they’d landed. Her lips were curved up slightly, but it was more of the idea of a smile than an actual smile.

He could still see that other smile, the one from the hangar, in his head. No, this would not do.

He grinned wider. “Awful late to be talkin’ business, isn’t it?” he teased, leaning on the doorway a bit more and putting on a suggestive tone.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t reply. _Interesting_.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Come on in.”

She followed him to the lounge. “I was just havin’ a drink,” he said. “Want one?”

She paused. “Perhaps a small one,” she said, the business-like tone still in her voice, though less so than before.

* * *

The next morning, Han was standing next to Luke and Chewie, preparing to march to the dais for the medal ceremony. He and Chewie were staying for a bit, just long enough to help with the Yavin evacuation right after the ceremony. They’d worked it out last night, over the dejarik table.

The Princess had accepted a small glass of whiskey— _Whatever you’re having is fine_ , she’d said, still playing the diplomat like Han was chief of state of the smuggler nation or something. But at some point she’d relaxed back into the woman who’d taken charge in the hallway of the detention center, who’d coolly informed him minutes after their escape from the Death Star that they were being tracked, given him hell over being such a mercenary.

It wasn’t the same as that smile, but it was something.

As they marched up the aisle, he heard Luke gasp softly as he caught sight of Leia. _Kriff_ , the Kid had it bad, but who could blame him? She was stunning, her hair in intricate braids atop her head, wearing a beautiful white gown and a silver necklace that set off her elegant neck.

She was smiling again, but it was the official smile. Lovely, to be sure, set off with her red lipstick and white teeth. It _looked_ like a real smile, nothing out of the ordinary—but Han had already seen the other one, so he could tell the difference.

He wanted that one back, if just for a second. It nagged at him, like the feeling that had brought him back to Yavin.

Then he got his moment. Leia placed the medal around his neck, and as he rose up, he looked her straight in the eye and winked.

 _There it is_ , he thought, grinning back as her face lit up again. _Too bad we’re not sticking around_.


	2. Her Highnessness, Queen of the Supply Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's a firecracker of a woman, but there's not much spark for her in her current assignment. Maybe a little friendly flirtation will help.

“We gotta quit meeting like this,” Han greeted, rolling in the last of the crates from the _Falcon_ ’s latest supply run. The quip was a little tired, but it was the only one that consistently got an eyebrow raise and a mildly amused look from Leia, so he’d take it.

This time, he was pleasantly surprised to get an actual verbal response. “Ah,” she said, “nostalgic for the garbage already?”

He laughed. “The smell, no. The company, sure.”

There was the eyebrow raise and the look of amusement. It wasn’t much, but it sure as hells beat the serious look she wore most of the rest of the time.

She held up a datapad. “Initial here, and here, and here.” _Back to business_. Han couldn’t help being a little disappointed. He wasn’t trying to get anywhere with her—he should probably have hauled ass out of here months ago, the Kid was clearly still infatuated with her, and Han had no shortage of attention on base as it was—but he liked seeing that little spark light up.

She was a firecracker of a woman, once she got going, but most of her fire seemed to be devoted to supply manifests and requisition forms these days. One of the new pilots had dubbed her _Queen of the Supply Closet_ , and it had stuck. Han wasn’t sure why, but something about that nickname had really rubbed him the wrong way.

Han handed back the completed form, and as he watched her submit the information, he was tempted to at least try to resurrect their banter from a minute ago. Even if he looked like an ass doing it.

“Say, Princess, when do you get off your shift?” he asked, throwing in one of his trademark grins for good measure.

“About the twelfth of never,” she said, dryly, not looking up. Leia had become something of a fixture in the supply and procurement area recently, which was not something Han would have pegged anyone as being particularly passionate about. It was kind of a relief to hear her sardonic tone.

But he was still going for the spark. “Have a drink with me,” he said.

Leia finally looked up from the datapad and stared at him for a long moment.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 _Aw, hells_. “Tryin’ to flirt with you,” he admitted, “but it isn’t going too well.”

“Fraternization with lower-ranking officers is prohibited,” she said, like she had memorized it from a rule book.

“Good thing I ain’t enlisted, then,” he shot back smoothly, almost winking at her. To be honest, he was kind of getting into this now. _In for a credit_ —

And then it happened. Leia smiled, just a little at first, and then her face burst into an actual laugh. _There’s the spark_. “Leave to you to find a technicality,” she said, still smiling.

Han shrugged. “’S my job. You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

The eyebrow went up again. “If you’re looking for a bedpost notch, I’m not interested. Captain,” she added.

“Eh, got enough notches,” he said. “Just want to see whether you hold your liquor well as you hold a blaster.”

Those must have been the magic words, because the datapad finally went down and her grin, Leia’s real grin, came back up. “That sounds like a challenge,” she said.

Suddenly Han knew why he hated that new nickname of hers. Leia commandeered her own damn rescue, stood up to interrogation by kriffing Darth Vader, blasted her way out of a cellblock on the Death Star. She stole a damned ship to rescue a bunch of her own people. She wasn’t suddenly hot for supplies or procurement policies; she was making the best of a shitty assignment, an assignment that was damn near another prison. 

Leia was fully capable of breaking herself out again, she just needed someone to blast their way into the cellblock. And he knew just the guy.

“Come on,” he said. “Got a glass of Whyren’s and a deck of sabacc cards with your name on ‘em.”


	3. New Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia's talents are being wasted at the base, and Han and Luke conspire to change that. But Han's not getting involved--right?

They weren’t getting involved. _Steady work_ , he’d insisted to Chewie again that afternoon. _That’s it._ Stick around long enough to build up the coffers, then they were out of here. The Rebellion would just be one of their more satisfied customers, that was all.

Okay, long as they were here, maybe they’d help out the kid a bit. Luke was clearly overwhelmed, had barely had time to get his space legs under him before the Rebellion had him commanding other pilots, going out on missions. Kid was not as soft as people assumed—you make it to adulthood on Tatooine, especially the kind of settlement where Luke grew up, you’ve seen some shit—but he still had a lot to learn about the rest of the galaxy.

And if you were going to help out Luke, that meant helping out Leia, too. Those two had become thicker than thieves over the last few months, though it didn’t seem like things were moving in a romantic direction. Damn shame for Luke, really. Hell of a lot of beings practically launching themselves at him, and he was still oblivious to anyone but her. 

Hard to tell with Leia, though. Rumors of various kinds swirled around the base—fighter pilots were worse than the damn holotabloids in that respect—but that woman was clearly interested in keeping her cards close to the vest.

It had been Chewie’s idea to invite the two of them to the ship for dinner every week, as long as the _Falcon_ was on base. [ _They do not eat enough_ ,] he’d insisted. [ _They need real food, not these rations._ ] Worse than a mama tooka, that Wookiee. But Han had agreed, and it had become a regular thing.

Tonight’s after-dinner entertainment of sorts was Leia testing Luke on the details for an upcoming mission.

“Once more, you’ve almost got it,” she encouraged, after Luke mispronounced the passphrase for the fifth time.

“Ugh,” Luke groaned, shaking his head. He sat up straight again, took a deep breath. “Burc'ya bal paslaptis?” he tried.

“Yes!” Leia said, triumphant. “Now do it again. I’m your contact,” she said, sliding away from him in the booth to get a little distance.

Luke still looked a bit unsure. He had that face he got during sabacc games, the one they were still trying to break him of. He tended to wear it when he was deciding whether to bluff or not.

But Leia’s enthusiasm seemed to help him push through. “Greetings,” he said, extending his hand. “I am Yosvolo Velt. I bring a message from Abonshee.”

Leia’s face had transformed again. Each time they’d practiced, she’d become a different character: a snobbish, bored aristocratic type; a wary guard; an imperious rule-enforcer. Now she’d changed from encouraging to impatient. “Yes, and?” she asked, all but drumming her fingers on the table.

Luke stared at her for a second, and then seemed to remember that he had a line. “Burc'ya bal paslaptis?” he said tentatively.

Han couldn’t help a little chuckle. _Poor kid._

Leia turned to glare at Han, then her face softened as she turned back to Luke. “Good,” she said, “Your pronunciation was good. You just have to act like you believe what you’re saying. Han—a little help?”

He grinned. “Sure, why not?”

“You be the contact,” she directed, and at his nod, her face transformed again.

This time she looked like she was channelling one of the cockier pilots—Antilles? Verlaine? Janson? “Greetings,” she said. “Yosvolo Velt.”

Han put on the unimpressed air of one of his former bosses. “Yeah?”

“Burc'ya bal paslaptis,” she said confidently, but with a casual enough tone that it didn’t sound rehearsed. Han shrugged noncommitally, then gestured as if he was going to have Leia follow him.

Then he dropped his character and looked back at Luke. “That’s how you do it, Kid.”

Luke threw his head back and groaned. “I am so bad at this.”

Leia scooted closer to him again, putting a hand on his arm. “No, you’re not. You’ve got the phrase down, now you just have to get used to becoming someone else for a bit.”

Luke shook his head again. “You’re so much better at this, I—“

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said. “The Royal Court. The Senate. Old missions.”

Luke looked at her again. “Alliance missions? On planet?” he asked, clearly curious.

Han was a bit curious himself. Leia rarely talked about her life _before_ , and Han had taken her lead, figured it best not to ask.

“Quite a few,” Leia said, a little bit of a smile traveling across her lips. “Diplomatic aid missions, mostly.” Her smile grew, and there was a bit of a twinkle in her eye. “At which some pesky Rebels kept running off with my ships.”

Han and Luke both laughed, and after a moment, Leia joined them.

Then Luke said what was obvious to them all, should be obvious to High Command as well: “You should be going on these missions.”

Leia’s smile remained on her face, but her voice suddenly lost a bit of its warmth. “I’m needed elsewhere,” she said, and left it at that.

* * *

_Not getting involved_ , Han tried to remind himself, but he knew even before Luke approached him the next day that they were going to find a way to get Leia back into the field. Hells, the whole damned Rebellion would have been space dust without those plans, and the ships that had been “stolen” from Alderaan under her watch were an essential part of the fleet. But there she was, grounded in the name of what? Safety? None of them were safe; they were Rebels. Her royal standing? She wanted to fight, let her fight. She’d earned it.

The kid was pretty crafty, when you came down to it. Luke had found the way in to High Command, an Alderaanian general named Carlist Rieekan. Leia trusted him, and more important, he seemed to trust her and knew she was capable of more. Han found the mission—something that looked like a milk run, involved Leia’s assigned area of expertise (procurement), and had a little something extra at the end of it. Something they didn’t need to mention until they were safely back at base.

They got their approval. Leia got her mission. And they got their objective, plus a little bit of bonus intel.

And now Han was in trouble, because he was already thinking about the next mission.

 _Leaving ‘em in good hands_ , he decided to tell Chewie, remembering the satisfied look on Leia’s face as the data had come through.

She was sitting at the dejarik table now, writing up her mission report. Luke was out on patrol.

“So, I was thinkin’—“ Han began.

“Careful, Captain,” Leia interrupted, not looking up from the datapad. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He laughed softly. “Aw, Princess, you wound me,” he said, pretending to clutch his chest in anguish.

Leia looked up, shook her head at him in amusement, and went back to the report.

“Thought we were friends,” he teased.

She paused her work again and looked at him for a long moment, as if he’d been invisible and she was just noticing his presence.

Then her smile rose like the sun at dawn, crinkling the corners of her eyes, illuminating her face, warmth radiating from her being. 

“We are,” she said.


	4. In the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first anniversary of the Yavin victory, Han offers a refuge, and gets a worthy dejarik competitor and an unexpected glimpse at the Leia behind the diplomatic veneer.

Luke had gotten a little better at stealth over the last few months. Not that Han couldn’t still tell he was trying to be stealthy, but—it was an improvement, for sure.

Han grinned at his approach. “Hey, kid. You ready to disappear? _Falcon_ ’s open. Just use the code.”

Luke smiled gratefully, and Han was glad that he and Chewie had offered a refuge from the Yavin commemoration celebration. Luke took his status as squadron commander seriously, and he liked to be a team player, but to have to participate in a yearly celebration of what had to be one of the worst weeks of his life was—well, it was cruel. And according to what Han had heard and Luke had bitterly confirmed, some kind of “blowout after party” was in the works as well. _Nothing like being stuck with a bunch of drunken, oblivious pilots partying to rub salt in the wound._

“Um—“ Luke leaned in a bit—“could I ask Wedge? He hates this celebration too.”

Han considered that. Antilles was all right, in his book. Corellian, so points for that. Only veteran of the squadron to survive, and hadn’t made a peep when Luke had been promoted over him—in fact, had helped him out quite a bit.

“He’s not gonna bring a bunch of Rogues with him, is he? ‘Cause I ain’t hosting a squadron party.” The Rogues tended to travel in packs, and a party was the thing they were trying to avoid here.

Luke shook his head. “No, no. Just him.”

“Long as you do it real quiet-like. Don’t let ‘em follow you.”

Luke grinned. “I won’t.” He looked around, and spotted whom Han had been watching from across the room. “Do I need to get Leia?”

“Nah, go on ahead. Think I might have to do an extraction,” Han said. He looked back at Luke again. “Remember what I said.”

“Quiet-like. No Rogues. Got it.”

* * *

Last year, Han had just been passing through, agreed to do the ceremony partly as a little _kriff you_ to the Empire and partly because _hells_ , Chewie and the kid deserved medals for what they did, and if they wanted to give him one too? Fine, whatever. They’d all been hopped up on so much adrenaline that day, and Han’s main thoughts at the time had been amusement at the kid and his combination of wide-eyed wonder and lethal marksmanship, and mild satisfaction at getting a real smile out of the Princess.

Leia had been stoic as the ceremony planning had started this year—“It’s an important occasion to mark,” she’d said, over and over—but Han had gotten pretty good at reading her over the last few months of missions. Every player had tells, and Leia had better control over revealing hers than most people, but Han could see when she was trying to talk herself into putting a good face on something that she hated. Or dreaded.

Right now, she was smiling faintly at a few higher-ups who had come for the occasion. One of them was touching her hand, clucking at her in a sympathetic yet condescending tone.

“I just think of what your father would do,” they were saying. “You must miss him terribly.”

_She must fucking hate this_. But Leia’s face betrayed nothing.

“Did you need something, Captain Solo?” General Dodonna asked from behind him. He was generally polite, but he seemed to get weirdly grumbly sometimes when the Princess was concerned, like he thought Han was going to abscond with her during the night.

_As if she’d ever let that happen._

Leia turned her glance to Han, and he made a quick calculation. Being a little inappropriate might be more fun, and might actually get a laugh out of Leia, but then again—it might not. He’d play the middle ground. All business, but you know, his kind of business.

He relaxed his posture a bit as he replied. “Hey, General. Need to borrow the Princess for a minute, if you don’t mind. Supply run details,” he said, with a bit of a shrug.

Leia didn’t miss the opening. “Ambassador Treyna,” she said to the clucking official. “I’d like you to meet Captain Solo. One of the heroes we honored today. And one of our best contractors,” she said with a smile. “We’ll be just a minute.”

* * *

When they reached the _Falcon_ , Leia was clearly having second thoughts.

“I can’t just disappear,” she protested. “I have to go back.”

“No you don’t.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” she clarified. “But I told them I’d be a minute, and then I’m just gone?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Han said. “Supply talk took a little longer than you thought, and then—would you look at that? Just lost track of time.”

Leia laughed in spite of herself, but shook her head. “I don’t know—“

“Leia,” Han said, catching her eye. “Don’t tell me you never played hooky before.”

Last year, his reward had been getting a real smile out of her during the medal ceremony. This year, he got a new version—a sly grin that just lifted up the corners of her mouth but lit up her eyes in a new way. Like she had secrets, fun ones.

He liked it. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, and entered in the code he’d given her.

* * *

Chewie greeted them, but was busy with making dinner. Han had thought they might have a drink with Luke and Wedge, but apparently the two men had already made themselves comfortable in one of the gun turrets, telling stories. So Han and Leia sat down at the dejarik table, and things got quiet and awkward in a way that they usually weren’t.

After a long silence, Leia ran her fingers across the checkerboard lines absently. “I never see you play dejarik,” she observed.

“You wanna play?” he asked, propping his feet up on the bench beside her.

“No, I—well, maybe,” she answered. “I haven’t played in a while.”

“Used to play with Chewie,” he said, going back to her implied question. “He’s a real bad sport. Wasn’t fun anymore.”

She looked up, the sly smile returning, but like she’d discovered a secret about him. “Wait. _Chewie’s_ a bad sport? Or are you just really bad and don’t like to lose?”

“Do _you_ like to lose?”

“A-ha,” she said, perking up a bit. “So I’m right.”

“No, Chewie really is that bad of a sport. Got tired of him threatening to pull my arms out of their sockets, so I quit playin’ with him,” Han corrected. It was true, not that he necessarily expected her to believe him.

“Will you play with _me_?” Leia asked.

“You gonna dismember me if you lose?” he shot back. This was fun; this was the Leia he knew from missions and dinners on the _Falcon_. His friend, snappy and smart as hell.

“I’m not going to lose,” she said, a smile on her face again and a competitive glint in her eye.

Han laughed and powered up the board.


	5. Return to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia knows better than to count on something she wasn't supposed to expect in the first place. But that doesn't stop her from missing it--or from being overjoyed at its return.

Leia didn’t like this feeling, this sense of disappointment creeping over her as she went over the last of the crates from the supply run. She knew better than to expect things, knew that they didn’t always come back with something. That was the beauty of it, that it was something of a surprise, that it didn’t happen every time.

That, and the sly look Han would throw her when no one was looking, right before he slipped her the package. “Little contraband for you,” he’d say, and she’d take the parcel from him and give him a little smile before tucking it away to look at later.

They were silly little things, mostly, though she was grateful to find that he never treated them as such, instead handing them to her in a way that was casual yet surreptitious. Slipping her a jar of malla petal jam or a bottle of arallute shampoo or a flimsi graphic novel written in her native tongue as if it were a bit of spice he’d siphoned away from a shipment to Black Sun.

It _was_ contraband, technically, but there were few things on this base that weren’t considered contraband as far as the Empire was concerned. _Leia_ was contraband, dangerous. She and the rest of her people.

She’d attempted to pay him back for these little treasures, first offering to do so in a subtle inquiry that he’d casually brushed off. _Eh, we’re good. Maybe gimme a break on those forms, eh Princess? Save me a piece of bread with jam sometime, let me know what I’m missing_.

She’d only once offered outright to pay him, and he’d looked so offended that it had taken her by surprise, especially given how he loudly proclaimed his interest in getting paid in every other instance.

She still winced a bit, recalling that conversation and her awkward attempts to patch things up later. _Thought we were friends_ , he’d joked to her once, during one of their verbal sparring sessions after a mission, and that was the thought that had haunted her. They _were_ friends, good ones, and she’d treated his gesture like a bit of another contracting deal. She hated being treated like a title rather than a person; why should Han be any different?

Thankfully they’d managed to move on from that, mostly by ignoring that it had ever happened. And after a brief pause, Han’s sly smile and the bits of Alderaanian contraband had started showing up again after supply runs. 

But not this time. This time, Han wasn’t even there to close out the cargo drop with her; he’d apparently been needed elsewhere, so Chewie had come instead.

After Chewie left, Leia found herself staring at her datapad, trying to reason with her own stupid emotions, trying not to miss something that she shouldn’t be expecting in the first place. She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled and went back to her work.

* * *

Another week, another run. This time, Han and Chewie had been on a raid of an Imperial outpost in the Outer Rim; despite the fact that Leia was often co-leading such missions these days, it had been deemed too risky for her to join.

Maybe it had been too risky; they were late. Five days late, three of which had included total radio silence, which had definitely not been part of the plan.

The night shift in the Command Center barely took notice of her now; shifts changed, and Leia remained there, nursing a mug of kaffe and focusing wearily on the datapad in front of her.

Leia was dimly aware of the fact that she needed sleep, that whoever was on comms would alert her immediately if something changed, that she’d completed everything that needed her immediate attention and several things that didn’t. That she was stretching out her research on an upcoming mission to give her a valid reason to sit here and pore over navigational charts, with the occasional break to stare angrily at her communicator and its silence.

_Godsdamnit, flyboy, where the nine hells are you?_

_Kriffing piece of shit ship probably broke down, stranded them somewhere._

_If I’d been there—_

Why was she fixating on this? Missions went off-plan all the time; hell, half the time she was the cause of the deviation. Things often took longer than you’d planned, or a new opportunity presented itself, or you ran into an obstacle that delayed things a bit. Sometimes you had to lie low, avoid leading your enemies back to the nest. Han had plenty of experience with this, having been on the run for far longer than he’d been with the Rebellion.

 _I ain’t_ with _the Rebellion_ , Han’s voice reminded her.

He wasn’t, and yet he was. The mercenary had become an unlikely hero, then a trusted contractor, then a friend, and—

_And?_

And Leia couldn’t think about that. Especially not now, especially not with them missing.

 _They’re not missing, they’re just late._

Leia returned to her navigational charts, resting her head on her hand.

* * *

“Leia.” Someone was shaking her gently. “Leia.”

Leia opened her eyes. She must have fallen asleep in the command center; her head was resting on her outstretched arm, and she’d drooled a bit on herself. _Ew_.

Then it registered to whom that voice belonged. She raised her head slowly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she turned to see Han with his hand on her shoulder.

Was she dreaming? She blinked at him for a few seconds in silent wonder.

“I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me, Your Worship,” he said in his familiar drawl, a bit of a wink in his expression.

Her smile was less something that she did, and more something that came over her, a rush of relief and joy that exploded onto her face.

_You’re back._

Tomorrow, she’d go back to preparing for the day when she could no longer count on him in her life. Today— _oh, kriff it_.

She couldn’t stop smiling, now; it energized her, warmed her from head to toe.

“I did miss you,” she said, and reached out her arms to welcome him home.


End file.
